


(Our) Home for the Holidays

by msred



Series: Starting Over [33]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Adoption, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28284465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred
Summary: I thought back to my first Evans family Christmas. It was … a lot. It was loud and chaotic and so, so warm and fun, but a lot to handle. And I’d been an adult and Chris and I had been together for almost a year at the time. Brody had been with us for about nine months, and he was just a kid. A baby, as far as I was concerned, new to us and to our family.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor) & Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans (Actor) & Reader, Chris Evans (Actor) & You, Chris Evans (Actor)/Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans (Actor)/Reader, Chris Evans (Actor)/You
Series: Starting Over [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1423663
Comments: 20
Kudos: 24





	(Our) Home for the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Home (is Where the Heart is) for Christmas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21958327) by [msred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred). 



_ 4 years, 11 months together; 3 years, 6 months married; 4 months post-adoption (Christmas Eve, Year 6) _

I leaned on the wide doorway separating my mother-in-law’s living room from the dining room, an almost full glass of wine in my hand, and watched the festivities around me. On one side of the living room stood Chris and Scott and their brother-in-law, lamenting (very loudly) the fact that the Patriots still had not recovered from the loss of Tom Brady over five years prior, my husband, ever the optimist, declaring that the season wasn’t a total loss just yet, they still had a chance at a Wild Card if New England could just win their last two games  _ and  _ if Jacksonville, Tennessee, and Indianapolis all lost theirs. The other guys clearly weren’t buying it. Shanna and Carly sat chatting on the couch, Carly’s three kids in front of them on the floor playing with the toys they’d brought from their first Christmas celebration at their other grandparents’ house earlier that day. And on the other side of the room, sitting on the floor just next to the tree with a book and flanked by his dogs (drained since the excitement from all the non-family guests had tapered off), was my son. I knew his cousins weren’t excluding him; for one thing, they just didn’t do that. They doted on him, if anything. Besides that though, I’d seen them invite him to join their game a few times, and each time he just shook his head and went back to his book.

I thought back to my first Evans family Christmas. It was … a lot. It was loud and chaotic and so, so warm and fun, but a lot to handle. And I’d been an adult and Chris and I had been together for almost a year at the time. Brody had been with us for about nine months, and he was just a kid. A baby, as far as I was concerned, new to us and to our family. And he had become a part of the family already, even before we’d legally adopted him four months earlier, but Christmas Eve was his first big, true family function, aside from his own adoption party and then Thanksgiving, which hadn’t been all that different from a typical Sunday family dinner except with even more food and Uncle Scott. And all of that was not even to mention the fact that he’d spent the previous Christmas in a group foster home  _ and  _ that he’d lost his biological mother only four months before. Honestly, the more I thought about it, the worse I felt that it hadn’t even occurred to me that the whole thing would be too much for him, at least that first year.

“Hey sweetheart, are you okay?”

I jumped a little when my mother-in-law appeared at my side. The last time I’d seen her she’d been talking to the last of the non-family guests for the traditional Evans family and friends Christmas Eve gathering, an older couple she knew from CYT, so she must have just seen them out. I nodded and gave her a small smile. “I’m good. But can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course. Come on, I’m headed to the kitchen.”

I pushed off the doorway and turned to follow her, her hand settling warm and comforting on my back as we walked. When we got to the kitchen, she headed for the fridge and I leaned back against the counter, looking down into my wine glass as I spun it carefully between my fingers by the stem.

“Okay,” she turned back to me with a smile, a half-empty bottle of sparkling white wine in her hand, which she held up toward me and I shook my head, “what’s up?”

I chewed my bottom lip for a second then forced myself to say, “I think Chris and Brody and I need to go home.” I braced myself for her response.

She stopped mid-pour and put the bottle on the counter. “Did something happen?” she asked with a frown, her voice heavy with concern. 

“No,” I shook my head, “not really. It’s just,” I sighed; I really did feel terrible, “I think this might all be too much for him, this year. I  _ know  _ how much everyone loves him, and I know he knows it too, but,” my chest was starting to ache, “last Christmas he was in the group home, and then, Mallory,” my voice cracked and Lisa took the few steps necessary to close the distance between us and wrap her arms around me, patting my hair and shushing me until I nodded and she let me pull back. “Sorry,” I whispered and she just shook her head, her hands still running up and down my arms. “Anyway, I just think it would be good, this first time, for the three of us to do tonight and early tomorrow morning just us, if that’s okay.” She nodded slowly, her brows pulled down just a little. “We’ll be back over here first thing tomorrow, I promise. Like, probably before Scott’s even awake, just enough time for us to get Brody awake and have a little quiet time first.” 

Her hands slid down my arms until they wrapped carefully around mine. “Sweetheart, you don’t owe me an explanation. You are his mother, and if this is what you think he needs, then I’m absolutely going to respect that.” I nodded, still feeling terrible about breaking up family Christmas Eve. “I was just going to ask if you needed me to send anything with you for breakfast in the morning. Since you guys had planned to be here, I didn’t know how set you were on groceries and I know Christmas breakfast has been one of your things since your first Christmas up here with Chris.”

“Oh,” I felt myself blushing. “Thank you, really, but we’re good. I actually stocked up the other day when I went shopping. I figured I’d do at least one more good breakfast while Little Man and I are out of school, so I’ve got plenty.”

She squeezed my hands and kissed my cheek. “Okay then, I’m going to go say good night to my grandson.” I saw her look over my shoulder and I turned to find Chris studying us from the doorway. “I love you.” She squeezed my hands one more time, quickly, then pulled hers free.

“Love you too, Mom.”

She winked as she walked past me then reached up to pat Chris on one cheek, kissing him on the other when he bent to her height. By the time she was out of sight, Chris had moved to stand right in front of me. “Hey, is something wrong?”

“Not exactly.”

He curled his hands around my hips and pulled me away from the counter. “So yes.”

I rolled my eyes then lifted my right hand to trace the cable knit pattern of his sweater with one finger. “I think we should take Brody home.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, really. He’s just been really quiet and withdrawn, and, I don’t know, I remember what my first Evans family Christmas Eve was like. It’s a lot.”

He rocked my hips side-to-side with his hands. “I seem to recall you doing great that year, and absolutely enchanting one little girl.”

“Yeah, well, I was an adult. And I had things a little easier than he does, I hadn’t just been adopted, or had my biological mother die.”

I watched Chris’s face fall just before he squeezed his eyes tight and scrunched his nose, and I knew he was chastising himself the same way I’d done. “Shit. I didn’t even think of all that.”

“Neither did I.”

“I just already forget that he hasn’t always been one of us, you know?”

“I do. But it’s okay,” I slid my hands up to his chest and patted the right one just over his heart, “we’ll take him home, have some quiet time, just the three of us, maybe watch a movie, have some hot chocolate, then in the morning, after he’s had time to wake up and get all excited about presents and hanging out with his cousins and stuff, we’ll come back.” Chris nodded, but he still didn’t look completely convinced. “Hey, I think he just got overwhelmed with all the people earlier. A lot of those people who were here are people who have known you for most of your life and were meeting your son for the first time. That’s a lot of energy for him to take in all at one time. We just need to let him rest, catch his breath, and by tomorrow he’ll be more than ready to get back to his whole family.”

He nodded again, and seemed a little more sure of himself. “Should I get us an Uber?”

I shook my head. “Nah, I’m good.” I tilted my head toward my almost full wine glass on the counter next to me. “I was too busy watching our boy to even finish my first glass.”

Chris shook his head and clucked his tongue. “So wasteful.”

I had to roll my eyes. “Don’t worry, you know one of your siblings is just gonna stumble in here after we leave and see it as an easy target.”

His head fell back as he laughed. “Okay, that’s true,” he said once he’d stopped. He sighed before going on. “Alright, should we go collect our boy and head home?” I nodded and he kissed my forehead before letting me turn to lead him back into the living room, where Lisa had already gotten Brody into his coat and had him say goodbye to the rest of the family. She handed Chris and me our own coats, and while I was fishing the car keys out of my purse, Chris hoisted Brody up onto his hip, one of the many things we were still both refusing to accept that he was already almost too old for, since he had only been  _ ours  _ for such a relatively short time.

When we got home, I sent Brody off to his room to change for bed, since we’d left before opening our Christmas pajamas. I did feel a little bad about that part, since he would probably really have liked the pajamas, and I know he would have liked the book that was inevitably wrapped with them. I’d make sure to have him open them and change as soon as we got back to Lisa’s the next morning (Chris and me too, because honestly, I was a little sad about missing out on my own Christmas pjs) so that he looked the part of being an Evans the same way that we all felt he was. While we were in our own room doing the same thing, Chris waited until I was stripped to my underwear and bent over my dresser drawer digging out the soft flannel pajamas I’d been given the previous year then came behind me to wrap his arms around my waist and pull me back against him.

“I love you,” he murmured into my ear, and I let my head fall back against his collarbone. “And honestly, I’m glad we’re back here, just the three of us. It’s nice.”

I hummed and turned my head up to kiss him, lifting one hand to drag my fingertips over his beard. “Me too.” I pecked his lips again, “I like having the two of you all to myself.” He laughed and kissed the top of my head then swatted my butt and went to his own dresser to change. It was true, I did like having the two of them all to myself. But I also loved the family more than I could express and my own selfishness had nothing to do with why I’d suggested we go home that particular night.

Chris headed off to the kitchen once he was dressed to make cocoa and popcorn (as if we hadn’t already stuffed ourselves enough at his mom’s, but,  _ It’s Christmas Eve, babe, we have to _ ) and I met Brody in his room to take him down to the couch, where he was in the middle of an earth-shaking quandary over which stuffed animal to bring down with him. I acted like I was doing him a big favor by ‘giving in’ and allowing him to bring two, since we’d left the dogs at Lisa’s for the night, rather than rounding them up and packing them into the car just to take them home, let them sleep for a few hours, and take them back the next morning. They’d be well taken care of and probably too well fed and it would save us the hassle of trekking them back and forth  _ and _ prevent us having to deal with listening to the rest of the kids complain about us taking them away.

Brody and I - and his two stuffed companions - settled into the chaise end of the couch (the one thing I’d truly insisted on, house-wise, since marrying and moving in with Chris was that when it came time to buy a new couch, as it had the previous winter, it needed the chaise, my own couch being the only piece of furniture I missed from my home in Virginia), my upper back pressed into the cushions behind me and my body reclined so that my legs stretched long in front of me and Brody’s small body squeezed between mine and the arm of the couch. Chris came around the opposite end of the couch carrying three steaming mugs, marshmallows piled so high on each that he had to almost shuffle his feet across the floor to avoid spilling some of them on the floor. He set one mug on the coffee table then turned toward Brody, but when Brody reached for one, Chris stopped him.

“No no bud, that one’s Mommy’s.”

“Why?” he asked without missing a beat, simply changing direction and reaching for the other mug instead.

“Because, that’s her favorite mug, obviously.” He winked at me and I knew it wasn’t about the mug, but rather about whatever adult additions he’d put  _ inside  _ the mug, Bailey’s probably, or Kahlua, maybe something with mint. He held the mug toward me then pulled it away when I reached for it with the hand that wasn’t trapped behind Brody’s back, bending toward me with pursed lips and closed eyes. I turned to look at Brody with an over exaggerated  _ Do you believe this guy?  _ expression, quirked eyebrow and pursed lips and all, and when he giggled behind his mountain of marshmallows I winked then turned to give Chris the kiss he was asking for. The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, and absolutely had its intended effect, which was to give Brody that last little push back into his comfort zone. He’d warmed up significantly just in the short ride from his Nana’s house to home, telling Chris and me all about the book he’d been reading at Lisas’s as we turned onto our road and pulled up the long driveway, but his bedtime routine and his snuggle buddies and his dad’s goofiness had brought him fully back to his normal self.

Chris finally handed over my spiked cocoa then went to pull the case of Christmas movies from the top of the mantle just under the television. “Alright you two, I’m gonna go finish up the popcorn, you pick us out a movie to watch.” He dropped the dvds on the blanket over my lap and ruffled Brody’s hair then went back to the kitchen.

I took a sip from my hot chocolate and leaned across Brody to put it on the end table then opened the dvd case and started to flip slowly through our collection. “Alright Little Man, what are we watching?”

He hummed and leaned his head on my shoulder to watch me go through the disks. “Oh! What’s that?” He reached to press his forefinger to the white disk, bright red and green letters shining out from under his little hand.

“Oooh, this is a good one.”

“Home Alone?” He was a great reader, but the way the letters were represented, the ‘H’ in ‘Home’ the shape of a house and other letters taking on different Christmas-inspired shapes as well, seemed to be throwing him off a little.

“Yep. It’s about a little boy not much older than you who gets left all alone on accident and has to figure out how to take care of himself.”

“And it’s a Christmas movie?”

“Yep.”

“Will I like it?”

I nodded emphatically. “Oh yes, I think so. It’s one of my favorites, I’ve been watching it every year for a long, long time.”

He seemed to think about it for a second then finally said, “Okay, let’s do this one.”

I pulled him a little tighter against me, watching to make sure none of his cocoa spilled as I did, and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Awesome.” I took the open dvd case from him and slid the disk out of its sleeve. “Daddy will be excited.”

“What’s Daddy going to be excited about?” I heard Chris’s voice from behind me and dropped my head back to watch him walk into the room with a huge mixing bowl full of popcorn and what appeared, through the glass bottom of the bowl, to be red and green M&Ms. I resisted rolling my eyes but couldn’t help but smirk, earning a wiggle of his eyebrows in return. For someone who had the body he did, the man could put away candy like no one’s business. He usually tended toward fruitier candies, we both did, but our boy was a chocolate fiend and Chris wouldn’t turn his nose up at that either and that wasn’t the first time (and wouldn’t be the last) he’d used Brody as an excuse to fill himself with sugar.

I stuck my finger through the hole in the center of the disk and held it up so that Chris could read the front. “Oooh, Wet Bandits,  _ nice _ .” He traded with me, settling the popcorn onto my lap then pulling the disk off my finger to go put it into the player.

“Wet bandits?” Brody craned to look up at me.

I winked. “You’ll see.”

Chris closed the dvd player then made a detour to the light switch by the hall, flipping it so that the room went dark except for the blue glow from the television as the 20th Century Fox logo filled the screen and the golden glow from the Christmas tree in the corner. He dropped onto the couch next to me and immediately started wiggling his body against mine, pushing me closer to Brody. “Excuse me, mister, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh, so the two of you can stretch out, but I can’t?”

“Yeah Mommy, we can stretch out but he can’t?” Brody blinked up at me, his eyes wide in his best impression of Dodger or Millie.

I let my jaw drop, gaping at him in faux shock and dismay. After looking between the two of them, I huffed and said, “I see how it is, I’m just surrounded by bullies.” But even as I grumbled, I shifted closer to the arm of the couch so that Chris could fit onto the chaise with me, shuffling Brody up onto my lap as I did. When we were all settled, me at the end of the couch with Brody stretched out half on top of me and half on the arm and Chris pressed against my other side from shoulder to hip and all the way down to my feet, I stared straight ahead at the tv and pretended to pout. I didn’t make it through the opening credits, because after only a couple seconds they were shifting, both leaning in to press noisy kisses to my cheeks. I held tight to the popcorn bowl, protecting it from Brody’s knee as he pulled himself up by my shoulder, and squeezed my eyes tight, scrunching my entire face as I let them both kiss me. “You two are lucky you’re cute,” I teased when they pulled away. And as if he hadn’t made the point well enough already, Brody reached behind himself for my hot chocolate and held it out to me, then when I took it from him he dropped his head to my shoulder and nuzzled his cheek there.

When I just dropped my head to look over at Chris from under my brow, he whispered, “Oh, he’s good.”

Nostalgia settled thick and heavy around me as chaos took over the McCallister household. I’d watched the movie many times as a child, then every year that I was married to my first husband, and again every year since Chris and I had been together. There was something about that movie that just made Christmas feel real, to me. But sitting there, close and tight and warm between my husband and our son for our first Christmas together, it meant more than it ever had. Even as I listened to the dialogue and could more or less recite every word right along with the film, I couldn’t take my eyes off Brody. His head shot up off my shoulder when Kevin proclaimed on-screen,  _ I hope I never see any of you jerks again! _

Brody’s eyes were wide as they darted between Chris and me. “That was bad,” he whispered. Chris dropped his chin to my shoulder and we both looked over at him. “He shouldn’t say things like that, it’s bad.”

Chris shifted his already almost empty hot chocolate into the hand on the side closest to me, resting it carefully half on his leg and half on mine and holding it in place with his fingers looped through the handle, and reached across both of us with the other to run it over Brody’s hair before finally cupping the side of Brody’s head in his large palm. “No, buddy, he shouldn’t, but he’s just upset.”

“I would never say that, no matter how upset I was.”

“We know sweetie,” I promised. Even as I said it, something in the back of my mind told me that he may change his tune a bit once he became a teenager, but that was hardly the point at the moment.

He seemed satisfied with that answer, because he dropped his head back to my shoulder and went back to watching the movie. Chris kissed my cheek before pulling back and draining the rest of his hot chocolate, leaning forward to set the mug on the coffee table then sinking even farther into the couch cushions and dropping his head to my other shoulder, mirroring Brody. I could move only just enough to lift my cocoa to my lips with one hand and hold the popcorn bowl secure with the other, but I couldn’t have cared less. If there was any place in the world that felt more comfortable, safer, or more like the absolute best place to be on Christmas Eve than at the bottom of an Evans puppy-pile, I don’t know where it could have been.

It didn’t last long, though, only until Kevin woke up to find himself alone, exclaiming in wonder that,  _ I made my family disappear _ . Brody actually sat all the way up that time, using a hand on my hip to push himself upright. He looked over at Chris and me, pure consternation on his face, and said, “Why is he happy about that? I would  _ not  _ be happy if I woke up and you were just gone.”

I think Chris and I both came to the same realization at the same time, and it dawned on me that while he and I had both loved  _ Home Alone  _ as kids, maybe it wasn’t the best movie for Brody, all things considered. My eyes fell closed and I mentally kicked myself for not knowing better (why hadn’t I pushed him toward  _ The Santa Clause _ , or even  _ A Christmas Story _ ?) and like the first time, Chris jumped in to speak for both of us, sitting up a little to be able to look at both Brody and me clearly. “I think he just needed a breather, Bud. Did you see how many people were in his house? And a lot of them weren’t very nice to him?” Brody nodded, a little hesitantly. “Well, sometimes when there are too many people, you get overwhelmed and you just want some time to yourself.” I was impressed at how quickly and smoothly Chris had managed to turn something that was probably Brody’s biggest fear, something he’d literally had nightmares about, into something he could probably relate very well to at that moment.

Brody frowned, furrowing his brow, and ran his forefinger up and down my leg from my knee to my hip then back again and finally huffed. “I guess. But I still want time to myself with you.”

I bit my bottom lip to hold back my smile and Chris just said, “We want that too, Bud.”

Brody was adorably solemn when he nodded and said, “Okay,” before laying back against me. Before he had a chance to get too settled, and before Chris lay back again, I twisted around to put my hot chocolate mug on the end table behind Brody and passed the popcorn bowl to Chris; I had eaten two small handfuls when the movie was just getting started, but that was all I could handle after eating pretty much all day at Chris’s mom’s house, and Brody had barely touched it himself. Chris had made a valiant attempt to eat as much as he could manage, probably just to prove a point, but even he hadn’t forced any down in the last several minutes. As soon as I passed the bowl to him, he sat up to put it on the table beside his empty mug. It was just over half full.

As he sat back again, it was Chris’s turn to give me puppy eyes, turning and tilting his head down to look up at me through his lashes, doing his best impression of Millie when one of us had food. I just lifted my own eyebrows and looked back at him, lips pursed. He started to shift, swinging his legs from the chaise in front of us up onto the couch cushions on his opposite side. His eyes stayed locked on mine as he pushed himself in that direction, scooting inch-by-inch until he was far enough away from me that he could lay down, craning up to kiss my cheek and whisper  _ Love you  _ before laying his head on my lap and nuzzling his cheek into the blanket pulled up over my legs. I tried to look annoyed when I turned toward Brody and rolled my eyes at his dad, but even as I did, I shifted my weight to one side and raised my leg a couple inches off the cushion, careful not to jostle his head, so that Chris could tuck one hand under my thigh, the other wrapping around the top of it. I would continue to pretend to be put out for as long as Brody found the, ‘Can you believe your dad?’ shtick amusing, but I loved it when Chris snuggled into me, when he pulled me onto his lap and wrapped his arms around me, hands finding their way under whatever I was wearing, when he nuzzled his face into my neck and shoulder, and, yes, when he used me as his own personal pillow. I loved the idea that the thing he wanted more than anything else, the thing that brought him the most comfort, was to be as close to me as possible.

Brody was a snuggler, too, and at that moment he was sinking a little farther down my body, his head resting on my chest and one arm wedging between my body and the arm of the couch and the other falling over my stomach. He shifted and turned until he was laying half on his side and half on his belly, with his top leg thrown over mine, just short of kneeing Chris in the head, and his foot tucked between my calves. He’d been quiet since his and Chris’s discussion of Kevin’s attitude, and I was wondering whether I should be worried, then Kevin started really leaning into the whole ‘home alone’ thing, running through the house, jumping on beds, watching ‘rubbish’ television, and Brody giggled. The sound eased my mind and brought me joy I couldn’t describe. 

My concerns dissipated further as the movie went on and Brody continued to laugh at the on-screen antics, occasionally flinching and burying his face in my shirt during some of the more painful pranks, but ultimately seeming to enjoy the film. In fact, he was getting a lot more out of it than his dad, who had started snoring lightly within five minutes of settling his head on my lap. As the movie drew to a close, Kevin checking on his neighbor just as the soothing sounds of John Williams began to play over the credits, Brody sighed a little and relaxed more fully against me.

“Well buddy, what did you think?” I asked, combing my fingers through his hair and brushing it off his forehead.

“It was pretty funny,” he answered without making any move to sit up or even look up at me. “I liked it.”

“Yeah? What was your favorite part?” I knew it wouldn’t be any of the more extreme stuff, like Marv driving a nail through his foot or Harry burning himself on the doorknob, but he’d seemed to get a kick out of there being a pet tarantula on the loose and Kevin’s fake house party. 

What I was not expecting him to say was, “When his mommy came home.”

Brody had been with us for less than a year, but I knew exactly when he was sucking up or trying to butter me up and when he was being sincere. The poor kid had no poker face and couldn’t lie to save his life, not that I was upset about that. What he’d just said was absolutely genuine and said for no reason other than that he meant it.

“You know what, I think that’s my favorite too.” He finally tilted his head up at me then to give me a sweet smile, and I noticed the pink tint to his eyes and how his eyelids seemed to droop. I moved my hand to his back, rubbing in wide, sweeping circles. “Whattaya think, is it bedtime now?” He furrowed his little brow and shook his head. “No?”

“I wanna stay here. I like it here.”

The mature, responsible,  _ mom  _ side of me knew the right thing to do would be to tell him no, to shuffle him off of me and take him up to bed, carry him there, at most. But the content, sentimental,  _ in love  _ part of me remembered what it had felt like, my own first Christmas in that house, the way I’d said nearly the same thing to Chris, and the way he’d, in turn, indulged me, turning the couch into our bed so that I could have my way and we could sleep in the glow of the Christmas tree. There’s no way I could deny giving my son the same thing for his own first Evans Christmas. 

“Okay sweetie, we can stay here.” He hummed a little as I did my best to scoot a little farther down into the couch so that I was more lying than sitting, moving slowly so as not to disturb Chris, knowing that I’d just made my own bed, so to speak. I switched the television back to cable from the dvd player and flipped through the channels until I came across  _ It’s a Wonderful Life _ , just as Mary and George Bailey are throwing rocks at the windows of the Granville house. I wasn’t sure if the black and white classic would be able to hold Brody’s attention, but it didn’t matter, because when I looked down to ask him if he’d ever watched anything in black and white before, I saw that he was already asleep, the lashes of the one eye I could see fanned over his cheekbone and his arm curled tightly around both of the stuffed animals he’d brought down.

When I awoke the next morning to a sharp set of knees and elbows digging into what felt like all my soft spots (and my back and neck aching slightly less than I’d expected them to, thank god), the last thing I remembered from the movie was Mary telling George that she was pregnant and him asking whether it was a boy or girl, only for her to respond with a grin and a cheeky  _ Yes _ , roughly 15 minutes after Brody had passed out. “Hey baby, good morning,” I managed, my voice rough from sleep and too much salt and sugar the day before.

“Gotta pee,” was the response I got, along with one last hand shoved right into the center of my stomach, just for good measure. I groaned as Brody managed to scramble off the couch and take off down the hall and toward the stairs, apparently preferring his own bathroom to the downstairs hall one.

“Mornin’,” Chris mumbled into my thigh, most likely awakened by the commotion of Brody’s sudden departure.

“Good morning to you,” I answered, my voice returning to normal by degrees. I scratched my nails lightly over the back of his neck as he turned to press a kiss to the top of my leg, then, after looking around and presumably deciding we were alone, turned his head even farther to kiss a little higher up my leg while the hand that had remained wedged under my thigh all night pushed farther up until his thumb was brushing over the band of my panties at the bottom of my butt and his fingers drew circles over the inside of my thigh, all through the barrier of my pj pants.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice low and a little like sandpaper (and sexy as hell). His whole body was starting to angle a little more toward me and I could tell that it wouldn’t be long before he was pushing himself farther up my leg.

“Mmhmm,” I smirked, my breath hitching when one of his fingers found the crease at the top of my thigh. “And you’re starting it off by being naughty.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” he shrugged. “Santa’s all done with his deliveries.”

And at that moment, it dawned on me. I gasped and my eyes slammed shut as my jaw dropped open.

Chris must have had the same thought at the same moment, because he pushed himself up off me at whiplash speed and hissed, “Shit! We forgot Santa.”

And okay, we didn’t  _ forget  _ Santa. We just forgot to account for Santa when we left his mom’s the night before, meaning the Santa gifts were either under her tree or still hidden in the back of her rarely used guest room closet.

“Oh my god,” I whined, staring at him with wide eyes that were quickly filling with tears. “I can’t believe we did this. It’s his first Christmas with us and we’ve ruined it.

He reached to run his palm soothingly up and down my spine. “We didn’t ruin it, we just …” he sighed heavily, “okay, yeah, we fucked up.”

“What do we do?”

Chris drew in a deep breath, puffed his cheeks out with it, even, then blew the air out slowly. “We,” he drew the word out then sighed again. “We tell him the truth.”

“The  _ truth _ ?” I very nearly shrieked, only catching myself at the last minute and managing to stay quiet enough that Brody shouldn’t be able to hear me from upstairs. “He’s  _ seven _ , and only barely, we can’t do that.”

“No,” Chris shook his head like I was being ridiculous and wrapped his hand gently around my bicep, “not  _ that  _ truth. We just tell him everything is at Ma’s. We’ll tell him that Santa knew we were supposed to be there and by the time we changed our minds and came home, he was already in the middle of his deliveries, so he didn’t get the message that we changed our plans.” My brows drew together and I worried my bottom lip with my teeth. “We’ll just skip the big breakfast and stuff, grab a quick bowl of cereal, and head right over as soon as we all get a little cleaned up.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“It’ll have to,” he said, then, when I apparently didn’t look convinced, added, “c’mere,” tugging on my arm until I fell over onto him then wrapping his arm around my shoulders and bending to kiss the top of my head. “He’s a sweet, loving, gracious kid. He’s going to be thrilled about anything he gets. And hey,” he went on quickly, probably because he sensed that I was going to argue that he shouldn’t have to settle for being grateful for something less than the ideal Christmas experience, “he’ll get to do it with his cousins this way, which might be even better.” I knew he was just trying to placate me, but it worked, a little bit at least. I nodded against his shoulder and sat back up.

He squeezed my shoulder one more time then got up off the couch. “I’m just gonna text the family group chat and let them know what’s up, make sure Little Man’s gifts don’t accidentally get mixed in with the other kids’ and tell ‘em we’ll be back sooner than expected.” I didn’t comment on the fact that all of Brody’s Santa gifts were art supplies of some sort (he’d always seemed to prefer that - and family games and puzzles - over any other toys, aside from stuffed animals) and not likely to be mistaken for anyone else’s. I didn’t comment at all, actually, because before I had a chance to, Chris was gaping at his phone, muttering  _ “You gotta be shittin’ me _ ,” with a grin on his face.

“What?”

“Where’s your phone?”

“I don’t know,” I told him. “Either in my purse or my coat. So, probably dead.” 

He smirked and came back to drop heavily back onto the couch next to me, holding the phone out so I could see it. In the family group chat was a picture of Scott on our front porch with all of Brody’s Santa gifts and three wrapped boxes, our Christmas Eve gifts from Lisa, I guessed, in a neat stack in his arms, Santa hat on his head and wide grin on his face.  _ You’re welcome,  _ the text below it read, with the one below that, from Carly, reading,  _ Yes, you’re welcome, since I’m the one who noticed Brody’s things were still here and drove this drunk ass over just so he could take all the credit. Love you, and see you tomorrow when you make it back over. No rush. Enjoy your first Christmas as a family. _

I sighed dramatically and fell back against the cushions behind me. “God, what would we do without your family?”

He snorted. “Live a much quieter, more peaceful existence?”

“Maybe,” I chuckled. “But where would be the fun in that?”

“You know, I wouldn’t have a clue.”

“Okay,” I sat up again, pushing myself to the front of the couch to drop my feet to the floor. “I’ll meet our boy at the bottom of the stairs then take him to the kitchen to help me make pancakes. While I’ve got him distracted you can set up everything in here.”

Chris smirked, like he was amused by how seriously I was taking the whole thing, but all he said was, “Sounds like a plan,” and he held up a hand to me, palm out. I slapped his hand and pushed myself up off the couch. “Hell of a team, babe, like always.”

I turned to look down at him and held out a hand to ‘help’ him, nearly getting pulled back down when he grabbed my hand and tugged himself up. “Best partner ever, as always.” He bent to kiss me sloppily, noisily, then pinched my butt as he stepped around me and headed for the front door while I made my own way to the foot of the stairs. 

Things went surprisingly as planned after that. I whisked Brody off to the kitchen as soon as he came down the stairs, shuffling him into the pantry to select pancake mix-ins and toppings while Chris ducked out onto the porch and carried in the gifts, then Brody whisked together all the ingredients while Chris slipped all the gifts under the tree. After a Christmas morning breakfast of chocolate chip and banana-pecan pancakes and bacon - not exactly the nutritious fare I usually tried to feed my boys at least 80% of the time, but hey, it was a special occasion, and besides, there would be more than enough to fill them up at lunch at Lisa’s - Chris and I both acted shocked to see the small pile of presents under the tree, all for Brody save for the one wrapped package each for the two of us. He ran his little hands reverently over the high quality colored pencils and sketchbook and seemed afraid to even touch the water colors that he was, honestly, probably too young for, but the thing he seemed most excited about was the box from Lisa, containing his first ever pair of Evans Christmas pajamas (and when he realized that they coordinated with the ones in Chris’s and my boxes, well, he was over the moon). He looked downright sad when I told him he needed to put away the book that came with the pajamas (Bethany Stahl’s  _ Save the Arctic _ , which went conveniently well with the polar bears on Brody’s and my pajamas) and go wash his face and brush his teeth and change into said pajamas so we could head back to Mrs. Evans’s house to do the rest of the Christmas festivities.

Chris and I also changed, from our one-year-old Christmas pajamas into our new ones, and the three of us bundled up and piled into the car to go back to spend the rest of the day with the family, partaking in more food and exchanging more gifts and sharing more hugs than any of us could count. When we made it back home that night, Chris and I busied ourselves with putting away gifts and feeding the dogs while Brody settled onto the couch. When we were finished and ready to join our boy, a beer in Chris’s hand and a glass of red wine in mine, we came out of the kitchen and through the dining room to find him on the couch with his new book, reading it aloud to one of his stuffed animals. We watched him for a minute, standing on the other side of the dinner table as Chris pulled me into his side, his arm around my waist and his chin dropping to the top of my head. Finally, when we couldn’t stand it any longer, Chris slid his hand to the small of my back and pushed me gently forward.

“Hey buddy, whatcha doin’?” Chris asked him when we rounded the couch and settled in on either side of him.

“Just reading to Snowball.” He lifted the stuffed polar bear that had been a gift from the  _ Big Brody  _ he had still yet to meet (who had decided from the very first moment we started telling family and friends about  _ our  _ Brody that it was his job, as my first ‘adopted’ child, to be the world’s  _ best damn long-distance big brother ever _ ), mailed to us the week of Thanksgiving and wrapped in Christmas paper but accompanied by a very stern directive to absolutely not make him wait until Christmas to open it. He placed the bear on my lap as Chris and I watched, turning it so that it faced him and leaning its fuzzy head against my stomach. Brody then pushed his own body up onto Chris’s lap, sitting across his thighs with his legs folded slightly so that he could tuck his feet between us into the space where he’d just been sitting.

“Yeah?” I asked, petting the teddy bear’s head absently. “Is that the book Nana got you for Christmas?”

He nodded. “It’s about the  _ Ark-tick. _ ” I looked over his head at Chris and we both suppressed grins at his pronunciation; it’s not like he was  _ wrong _ , so we weren’t going to correct him, glad he was using his phonics skills. “I figured, since Snowball is adopted, like me,” and I had no idea he thought of it that way, but I kind of liked it, liked that he was processing his own situation that way, “I should teach Snowball about his family’s home, the way you teach me about Costa Rica.”

“Baby,” I whispered, my voice cracking, as I ran the backs of my fingers over his cheek.

At the same time, Chris said, “Does that mean you’re Snowball’s dad?”

Brody’s head dropped back and he looked up at Chris and, as if he had no idea how he was affecting him, said, “Yep. Like you.”

I saw the emotion overtaking my husband, so I drew Brody’s attention back to Snowball and me. “That’s really awesome, sweetheart. Do you think maybe you could start the book over, so me and Daddy can hear? Since we’re Snowball’s ...”  _ nope _ , I could  _ not  _ make the word ‘grandparents’ come out of my mouth, so instead I cleared my throat a little and said, “family?”

He nodded enthusiastically and started flipping back to the front of the book. Chris looked over at me and closed his eyes slowly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and when he opened them again I winked, slowly and softly. He lifted the arm closest to me from where his hand rested on Brody’s knee and reached for my arm, his hand curling around my bicep so he could tug me closer. 

We got comfortable, Chris and I sitting hip-to-hip and shoulder-to-shoulder while Brody didn’t miss a beat, just stretching his legs across mine and readjusting Snowball on my lap. We stayed that way until Brody finished the book then tossed it behind him onto the couch and reached for the bear, hugging it tight and kissing its head. Just after that, though, he yawned. It had been a long day for our boy, a long couple days, actually, and for as much as he had wanted to sleep on the couch the night before, I didn’t doubt that the quality of sleep he’d gotten hadn’t been the same as it would have been in his bed. So, even though it was earlier than his normal bedtime, I looked at him and said, “Alright buddy, I think that means it’s bedtime.” He looked for a second like he was going to argue, so I went on before he had a chance. “Nope, not tonight, Little Man. You will be spending tonight in your own bed, starting right about now.”

He huffed and sank against Chris, who just said, “Hey, you heard the boss, time to go.”  
“Fine,” he pouted, but even as he finished the word, he yawned again. Chris shook his head at him and shuffled to the front of the couch before wrapping his arms a little tighter around Brody, Brody’s coming up to wrap around Chris’s neck while his legs went around Chris’s waist and his head fell to his shoulder, and standing up.

Thankfully, he’d stayed in his Christmas pajamas all day, so Chris was able to deposit him (and Snowball) directly into bed once I’d pulled down the covers. He tucked Brody in then knelt by the side of the bed while I sat on the edge of it, combing my fingers through his hair. “So, did you have a good Christmas, Little Man?” Chris asked him. Brody gave us a sleepy smile and nodded. “Good. Did you get all the gifts you wanted?” Brody shrugged. Chris furrowed his brow and looked at me sideways. “You don’t know? Did Santa forget something? Or Mommy and me?”

I continued to run my hand through his hair, knowing he liked it as much as I did and that it often worked to lull him to sleep, and Brody said, “No. I just didn’t really want anything. I like all the stuff I got, but I didn’t actually ask Santa for anything.”

Chris and I just looked at each other, taken aback. “Not even when we went to see him at the farm in Concord?” I asked, and he shook his head. “But you sat on his lap, and I saw you tell him  _ something _ .”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “but I didn’t ask him for anything. I told him thank you for bringing me what I asked for last year and told him I didn’t mind that it was a little late, since he gave me extra.”

“What you asked for last year?” Chris asked, pulling the blanket back up to Brody’s shoulders when he rolled over onto his back and it shifted.

“Mmhmm. He came to the big home where I was with all the other kids and we all got to talk to him.”

“Oh,” Chris nodded, “well that was nice.” He looked up at me and his expression said,  _ I guess _ . It was the least they could do, I supposed. “Can I ask what you asked for last year, since you got it?”

“Well, what I  _ really  _ wanted was for my Mommy Mallory to get better, but she explained before she went away that Santa’s magic doesn’t do that.” I sucked in a breath and one of Chris’s hands came to my leg while this other curled around Brody’s shoulder, his thumb brushing over Brody’s collarbone. “So instead I asked to have a real mommy or daddy again,” he shrugged and he clearly had no concept of what his words were doing to Chris and me, the way they were breaking our hearts and making them whole, all at the same time, “just somebody nice so I didn’t have to stay in that big place. But then I got  _ both  _ of you,” he grinned and worked his arms out from under the blankets to throw them over his head, “ _ and  _ Dodger and Millie,” and apparently both dogs were just hovering outside the door, because they came running and jumped onto the bed as soon as Brody said their names, making him giggle as they settled in around him, “so I figured I shouldn’t ask for anything this year. So he could worry about other kids instead.”

“That was super thoughtful of you, buddy,” Chris told him, and his voice was thick with unshed tears, but it was still worlds better than I would have been able to manage. I was afraid to open my mouth at all, knowing that the second I did, my voice would break and my barely contained tears would come rushing out. “That’s probably why he brought you new stuff anyway.”

“Maybe,” Brody shrugged, yawning again as he did. “I really like the art stuff.” He blinked slowly and it was becoming ever more obvious that he was fighting back sleep. “Maybe I’ll make him a thank you card and draw a picture of all of us together to show him how good he did last year.”

“I think that sounds amazing, Little Man,” Chris squeezed his shoulder, “but you know what you have to do before you’ll be able to do that?”

“Rest?” Brody sighed.

“Yup. You’re gonna need your sleep so you can make a really awesome card.” Brody had stopped trying to fight it, nodding instead and letting his eyes fall and stay closed. “Good night, Brody,” Chris leaned forward to press his lips to Brody’s forehead, letting them linger there as he went on. “Merry Christmas buddy, I love you.”

He moved, making room for me to do the same. I leaned down until I could kiss Brody’s cheek and whispered, as loudly as I could manage without him hearing how close I was to crying, “Merry Christmas baby, Mommy loves you.”

“I love you too,” he mumbled, turning over onto his side to curl around Snowball as soon as Chris and I stood.

Chris guided me to the door with a hand on my back and closed it behind us as we stepped into the hall. I crumpled back against him, his hands on my hips steadying me, and he blew out a long, heavy breath that rushed past my ear and over my cheek. “Fuck,” he said quietly, resting his cheek against my temple. “Are we sure we deserve him?”

I shook my head. “Not even close. But we’re keeping him anyway.” He chuckled in my ear and I went on. “Maybe  _ we  _ need to go find Santa and thank him. I’ve got a few years’ worth of Evans to thank him for, actually, double this year.” He used his grip on my hips to turn me, his hands gliding over my waist and my lower back as I moved in his arms and reached up to drape my own arms over his shoulders. I thought he was going to say something as he looked down at me, make one of those sweet, thoughtful, heartfelt, off-the-cuff speeches he was so good at, but instead he pulled me even closer and ducked his head to cover my lips with his. His arms circled my body, long fingers spanning my ribs and biceps pressing tight against my shoulder blades, and he moved to kiss the tip of my nose, my tear-dampened cheeks, even my eyelids, then finally my forehead, before pulling back and resting his cheek on the top of my head. 

“Best Christmas ever?” he asked, voice just above a whisper. 

I grinned into his chest at the familiar phrase, spoken by one or both of us, though usually as a statement, every Christmas since our first. “Only by a factor of about a million.” He chuckled and I took the opportunity to tilt my head back and smile up at him. “And if my time with you has taught me anything, it’s that it’s only going to get better from here.”


End file.
